


Moonlit Revelations

by Edo_Hikaro



Series: Defeat Evil With Evil [1]
Category: Bleach, Bleach (adult), Bleach (bidanshi), Bleach (dōjinshi), Bleach (josei)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anime/Manga Fusion, Anime/Video Game Fusion, Backstory, Canon Related, Canon Universe, During Canon, Established Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Feudalism, Gay Sex, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Japanese Culture, Love, M/M, Macabre, Making Love, Martial Arts, Mystery, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Science Experiments, Seduction, Seireitei, Teacher-Student Relationship, Ugendou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 06:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edo_Hikaro/pseuds/Edo_Hikaro
Summary: “Do you hear the moon sigh in jealousy, Amai’take? It knows even its light cannot compare to you, can only humbly adorn your beauty.”~ Kyouraku Shunsui, seducing Ukitake Jyuushirou with his infamously bad prose. Which Jyuushirou loves him for anyway.This story begins as Chapter 3 begins to Part 2, 'Heal, To Fight Longer', as Jyuushirou goes to Unohana's for his medical exam on orders of Yama-jii.Shunsui leaves the human youths and, heeding his preternatural instincts, commences his own investigations - only to discover Mayuri's secret that could save Jyuushirou from a doomed fate. But the irascible scientist is testy tonight. So Shunsui leaves him for the time to hurry back to Jyuushirou and affirm that his love is well, none the worse for wear after narrowly escaping death at the hands of Yama-jii, and that they are both still alive, strong and together to see another day. As he holds Jyuushirou in his arms safe and sound, his subconscious decides on his course of action, while his love makes a separate decision of his own.OR READ ENTIRE FINISHED WORK HERE:Defeat Evil With Evil





	Moonlit Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> MAP OF SEIREITEI -- Beginning from this chapter, this sub-series will make a lot more sense if you reference to the Map of Seireitei, linked [here](http://bleachsoulevolution.com/forum/index.php?/topic/14944-sereitei-map/&do=findComment&comment=350743). Unfortunately, if anyone finds a better map, I won't be able to use it because I've already built the story around this one :(
> 
> SHINIGAMI BIOLOGY -- All shinigami have reiatsu vents at their wrists which, if sealed, will cause the shinigami to explode from the build up of their own reiatsu. Thus it is highly probable that such a vital physical point is also a highly sensitive erogenous point, which Shunsui of course will use to his advantage.
> 
> CANON BACKGROUND EXTRAPOLATION -- A little creative licence has been used to explain how the Ugendou, referred in some canon parts as the Ukitake family estate, seems to be located right next to the Thirteenth Division, when noble clans were supposed to have retained their immunity and interference from the Gotei Thirteen. Creative licence has been taken to explain this, and for background, read how Yamamoto discovered Jyuushirou in Part 1, Unforgivable, Regrettable.'
> 
> CHAPTER 1 PLOT TIDBITS!  
> # /the twin carp-embossed crystal bottles of Shihouin potion/ were given to Jyuushirou by Unohana in Chapter 3 of Part 2, 'Heal, To Fight Longer'.
> 
> CHAPTER 1 JAPANESE CULTURAL TIDBITS!  
> # /kinchaku/ is a traditional Japanese drawstring bag (https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/kinchaku)  
> # /nagajuban/ is a thin traditional Japanese under robe, can be ankle length or shorter.  
> # /ofuro/ is a traditional Japanese deep tub made of wood for soaking after washing (see here: https://www.japan-experience.com/to-know/before-you-travel/ofuro-japanese-baths). Hygiene is a highly prioritised ritual in Japan since medieval times. The use of flowers in the shared bath water is a practice adopted by ladies of the feudal courts. Peony is a true medicinal plant used for anti-inflammatory and soothing medicinal practices, it doesn't hurt that it comes with an alluring fragrance. Creative licence has been used to adopt these cultural and historical facts for this chapter.  
> # /yousei/ means a Japanese fairy or spirit, usually appearing in medieval Japanese fairy tales and folklore.  
> # /Japanese moisture absorbing comb/ is real. I used to own one.

Almost sixteen hundred years ago, Yama-jii planned the Seireitei entirely for the purpose of defensibility and counterstrike. None had argued his allocation of territories for each of the Gotei divisions. They had been living in a violent era when elusive mysterious powers devastated the far north with erratic frequency, and feudal civil wars fragmented the lands from west to south. By comparison, the southeastern regions had less bloodshed and unrest for it was the stronghold of the early Gotei Thirteen, and therefore under a tyrannical kind of stability.

The heart of the Seireitei was built around the impenetrable Soukyoku Hill and the dense bramble forests protecting its northeastern access routes, both natural terrain features commandeered to protect the northeastern flank of the First Division and the northern flank of the Central Forty-Six Compound. From this centre node, defence of the Seireitei was split into four directional quadrants. Of the northwestern quadrant, the first line of defence of its perimeter arc and all northern entry points and Northern Rukongai were given to the Thirteenth Division, for its combat and long range arcane specialisations were particularly suited to repel the unknown northern hostile forces. Behind the Thirteenth within the Seireitei, the Third and Twelfth were assigned the second line of defence of the northwestern middle quadrant districts, with the Second standing as the last line of defence before the northwestern heart of the First Division. When it came to the northeastern quadrant, the combined combat specialisations of the Eighth and Fifth divisions defended the quadrant from its perimeter to its middle quadrant districts, with the Ninth serving as the last line of defence before the bramble forests at the foot of the northeastern lee of the Soukyoku Hill. The natural safety of the geographical feature was given to the Fourth, which Yama-jii located in the northeastern middle quadrant with the forest protecting its rear, distant enough from the northern frontlines and shielded by the natural fortifications, yet close enough to the perimeter divisions to respond quickly to the injured.

Defence of the southern half was divided into three quadrants. To the large melee forces of the Eleventh and the peacekeeping forces of the Tenth, were assigned the defence of the entire southwestern quadrant from perimeter to inner walls, from where they struck out and deployed quickly and effectively into the lands from west to south to quell the continuous feudal conflicts. The Gotei’s historical southeastern stronghold were divided into lower and upper quadrants, with the Sixth placed at the direct southern entry point as the first line of southernmost defence, augmented by the Seventh in the lower southeastern middle quadrant as the last line of breach before the Central Forty-Six Compound in the southern lee of the Soukyoku Hill. The entire upper southeastern quadrant was ceded to the Shinoureijutsuin, these days affectionately called the Shinigami Academy, whose teaching staff could be activated as the fourteenth war division when necessary.

When the centuries dragged on, as belligerence from the north continued with no sign of abatement while the feudal conflicts subsided, Yama-jii mustered a healthy portion of the Twelfth into the research and development of arcane and military capabilities of the Gotei in repeated bids to understand and defeat the strange northern troublemakers. But other than this, the specialisations and assignments of the Gotei forces remained largely unchanged for the following thousand and seven hundred years.

Of course Shunsui said nothing of this closely-guarded bit of insider military history as he watched, rather impressed, Rukia-chan draw the map of the Seireitei on a sheet of rice paper the size of a mess hall table, marking with colourful rabbit faces the spots her human friends wished to see. She was remarkably detailed for someone who was drawing from memory. He had removed his hat some time during their evening feast and now bent his own head among the five eager young ones, one shinigami and four humans, listening to their chattering comments about the locations. Unable to help himself, he picked up one of Rukia-chan’s coloured pens – selecting the magenta one - and began adding little bottle shapes here and there, indicating the best places he knew served the best sake. Five pairs of young eyes immediately pinned him reproachfully, and suddenly remembering that his entire audience was underaged, he sheepishly put the pen down.

It was time for the last adult to exit. Shunsui had always been circumspect in choosing his battles and he knew a ready defeat when he saw one.

“I’ll leave you all to it, then,” he excused himself apologetically, rising to his feet with his hat in hand. Putting it over his head, he tipped its brim at the youngsters with a smile, bade them a collective good night, and sauntered out of the mess hall.

As he stepped out into the breezeless night, he instinctively swept the moonlit courtyard in one all-encompassing gaze.

Peace reigned over the sprawling mess halls, a far cry from the electrified bustle of earlier when it had been jam-packed to near standing room with excited shinigami of the Thirteenth - and those of other divisions. Only a few kitchen staff remained to clean up the detritus of the impromptu feast. Everything else was now silent and still, awash in shades of greys in the cold light of the rising full moon, yet there was still no relief from the clinging heat and humidity. Summer was long past, and autumn should have ended, yet this year both seasons lay commingled like a persistent cloying blanket of dank warmth over the Seireitei, driving shinigami tempers across the capital oscillating between short fused and listless as frustrations mounted beneath the inexplicably prolonged damp sweltering heat. Kurosaki-kun and his friends could not have arrived at a worse time. As soon as they were named as ryoka they had drawn the full brunt of all shinigami weather-influenced frustrations.

And yet, even all that was now over. All animosity vaporised today in one dramatic afternoon. What had been abject antagonism only this morning, now verged on celebrity worship. Then when news leaked that the new human heroes would be hosted by the legendary taichou of the Thirteenth to an evening repast whipped up by his fabled chefs, sentiments throughout the Seireitei had literally lit up like spring festival fireworks. From what had been intended to be a hearty informal meal, Jyuushirou’s mess halls had suddenly become  _the_  place to be that evening. Shunsui had met Madarame-kun and Ayasegawa-kun, as well as Abarai-kun, as injured as the young ones still were. He had even spied Hisagi-kun and Kira-kun digging into the roasting haunches of black pork and had toasted several rounds of sake with amply-bosomed Rangiku-chan. Kurosaki-kun and his illustrious host had been interrupted so many times that Hanshi-sama had to put her foot down momentarily just so she could complete health checks for their human guests. And to top it all off, the quantities of food and sake consumed tonight had been enough to feed the whole of Seireitei for several days, of which such a hefty portion was silently put away by the willowy gentle taichou of the Thirteenth himself that Shunsui overheard several wagers whispered across the mess halls betting on exactly how much reiryoku the elder shinigami had to refuel.

Shunsui smiled involuntarily at the thought. A long time ago, when the Gotei had been a coarse and brawling gang of fighters instead of the disciplined army it now was, Jyuushirou had taken his meals with Shunsui and everyone else in the mess halls. But as they grew up and his love’s appetite inexplicably increased in utter contradiction to his physical constitution, meatheads had begun to challenge him to testosterone-driven contests at the bottle and the roast only to be innocently beaten into embarrassing stupor by a pale waif who had seemed like a mere breeze could knock over. Shunsui stifled a snigger at the memory, for if there was a soul who could drink even Shunsui under the table, it was Jyuushirou. For all that he appeared to be a lightweight, he simply burned alcohol as fuel before its effects could touch him, and they had both conspired to never reveal his natural unfair advantage. Ultimately Jyuushirou had retreated to eating alone simply to have peace, but eventually kept the habit as he rose in position, for it afforded him the opportunity to customise his diet for his health. Hanshi-sama had a hand in it, Shunsui knew.

 _Ai, I hope she’s giving you a clean bill of health, love of my life_ , he silently groused with humour.  _Make it worth my while entertaining the children on your behalf._

He imagined a gently deprecating look from those beloved mahogany eyes and a dainty sniff from that pale patrician nose, and involuntarily let loose a soft bittersweet chuckle. Jyuushirou had held court throughout the evening with the same sincere grace and humble refinement that made Yama-jii’s banquets so famous throughout the Gotei’s history. Yet Shunsui had spent nearly two thousand years intimately sharing Jyuushirou’s life and missions and he was not fooled. His love had been completely entranced by Kurosaki-kun, the mix of wonder and sorrow glimmering in the dark depths of his expressive eyes unbearably poignant to watch.

Even more heart-wrenching was how the human youth had responded to him. During the entire meal, Kurosaki-kun had voluntarily and wordlessly refilled Jyuushirou’s sake dish and dinner plate with the choicest morsels in a forthright and genuine manner so reminiscent of the fukutaichou Jyuushirou had painstakingly cultivated and eventually lost, that Shunsui had to look away. And though Jyuushirou had continued to work on his official duty to understand their new human allies, and had also noticed the strange evasiveness of Ishida-kun whenever his friends described their battles, the guileless reciprocation of Kurosaki-kun had wrung such surprise, pleasure and sorrow across his finely chiselled features that Shunsui felt his own heart ache.

Thankfully, the revelry had begun to dissipate soon after Hanshi-sama left. She, too, had been unable to elicit any information from the Ishida boy during her healing session with him, and soon after she finished her meal, she had levelled a meaningful glance at Jyuushirou and Shunsui before leaving to return to the Fourth. And that had provided them both with some relief, for Kurosaki-kun became distracted when Rukia-chan started getting into the spirit of planning her friends’ itinerary for the next day. When she enthusiastically took over organising the detailed programme and logistics, Jyuushirou gracefully excused himself stating that he did not wish to keep Unohana Taichou up late waiting for his medical appointment, then with long-practiced smoothness gently asked Shunsui if he wished to stay or retire. Shunsui had of course accepted the opening his love so subtly orchestrated despite his emotional tumult, and had opted to stay a while. And thus he had spent the next hour getting to know the human youths without intrusion from the multitudes of curious shinigami rank and file. It was during the brief lull when Rukia-chan had gone to fetch drawing materials that Shunsui could finally relax Ishida-kun enough for the youth to quietly divulge that his wounds had been inflicted by Kurotsuchi Mayuri.

Now, with almost all shinigami who had joined the feast retired to their barracks or hospital wards to come down from the highs of the evening’s spontaneous celebrations, Shunsui had a moment of peace and quiet for reflection.

The four human youths possessed not a single reishi of ill intent or meanness between them. Their combined hearts were large and strong enough to accommodate all the pettiness from the whole of the Seireitei, yet Kurotsuchi Mayuri had hurt Ishida-kun far deeper than physical wounds, perhaps even reopened an unhealed emotional pain. What that pain was, it was best to find out. Shunsui had defended Soul Society for far too long and learnt from too many painful personal experiences that even the smallest emotional issue, if left unattended, could potentially cause a devastating harm. If Kurotsuchi had fought young untested Ishida-kun yet ended up escaping using Nikushibuki, his last-resort trick of complete body liquefaction, Shunsui wanted to know how such a thing could have happened.

Taking a shunpo step, Shunsui leapt onto the roof of the mess hall, then leisurely began stepping across roof to roof in an easterly direction, towards the full moon already midway up in the eastern night sky. Silver moonlight washed everything in greys and white. Soon he arrived on top of the perimeter wall that divided the Thirteenth’s territory from the Third, at a point where there were fewer rooftops in that area of the Third. With a little push of reiatsu, he launched into the air, crossing the entire territory of the Third in one shunpo stride and aiming directly for the high walls separating the Third from the Twelfth.

Yama-jii had initially prescribed the same height for all internal perimeter walls of the Seireitei, but over the last century, the paranoid genius master of the Twelfth had raised his division’s walls to such lofty elevations that none could mistake his clear signal for all to keep out. No matter. It was easy for Shunsui to step onto the top of those ridiculously heightened walls and stand easily on its narrow edge as he sent his reiatsu out to locate the terrifyingly brilliant and ruthless scientist.

He was a little startled to find Kurotsuchi’s metallic signature in his personal quarters, along with the unnaturally regular pattern belonging to his fukutaichou Nemu-chan. It was curious, for the painted shinigami did not retire before midnight, and tonight was young yet.

Lightly buoying himself into the air, he took a large shunpo stride that placed him directly over the roof of Kurotsuchi’s personal quarters, then with his reiatsu completely cloaked, settled down light as feather on its roof tiles. A little sensing told him that Kurotsuchi and Nemu-chan were currently in the front of the house, most likely having a late supper. Since there was little point in directly approaching a personality as cagey and suspicious as their resident scientist, Shunsui decided to put in a little pre-confrontation spying to gauge the mood of the disconcerting fellow. He searched a bit for a concealed entry point, his hopes disappearing when his skin was tickled by the vibration of a freshly-made Kyoumon barrier. Dropping soundlessly to the ground in the darkest part of the building’s surroundings, he manually looked for an alternative spot to carry out his impromptu spying.

It was as if kami was watching out and rooting for him. A wind shifted the shadows of the night-time clouds, temporarily revealing a small, square, barred window located high on the corner of the shadowed wall he had dropped next to, situated close to the eaves of the roof. It was quite far up from the ground.

Shunsui felt a little laughter threaten to roll forth. _I’m a lucky one, ne, Amai’take,_ he mentally thought at Jyuushirou. _All those lunch breaks and nights trying to break into Hanshi-sama’s herb garden to see you, that little talent is coming into handy right now._

Smiling to himself, Shunsui launched himself back onto the roof, then tiptoed across its peak until he was directly over the small window. He had two thousand years and the equivalent amount of skills now compared to when he had first developed this technique, so with very little conscious effort, he held his zanpakutou close to his side, leapt into the air and simultaneously lengthened his body horizontally, and landed with one hand bracing himself on the edge of the roof, the lower half of his body coming to rest in a soundless recline on the downward-slanting roof tiles. Using only the strength of his back muscles, and holding his hat firmly onto his head, Shunsui lowered his upper torso until he could see into the small window, peering into the room upside down.

Surprise filled him. Eccentric Kurotsuchi Mayuri had chosen what appeared to be a storage room as his bedroom. There was his elevated platform bed, a wardrobe, and a vanity dresser with a large mirror. On the counter of the dresser was amassed a large assortment of what appeared to be brushes, sponges and pots of body and skin paints. The bulk of the room, however, was occupied by what looked like a circular tub of smoking liquid, and a very long laboratory bench table. The sight of what was arrayed on the bench table answered the question of why Kurotsuchi had chosen this room as his bedroom.

A series of tall, glowing, cylindrical glass tanks stood in a neat row, connected by masses of flexible tubes and wires. Shunsui blanched when he spied disembodied organs growing inside the tanks, some organs appearing more complete than the others. There was a stomach, a coil of intestines, a half-generated liver, even a heart. Next to the heart, there was…

His eyes widened.

A pair of pinkish, healthy lungs was suspended in the glowing liquid, complete with a new trachea.

He had learnt enough basic biology in field kaidou classes to know what he was looking at.

All the organs were clearly alive, feeding on the glowing liquid they were suspended in. Shunsui would not have known who they belonged to, except that Kurotsuchi had pasted a scribbled note on the cylinder containing the stomach, stating, _‘Note to self: Tell kitchen staff that anyone who accidentally put onions into my food again, will be dissolved alive to make new nutrient fluid.’_

His heart and mind raced. Pressing lightly on the roof tile under his balancing hand, Shunsui propelled himself soundlessly into the air in a smooth somersault, righting himself in midair before coming to land feather light on the edge of the roof. Settling down cross-legged on the roof tiles, his thoughts spun.

 _You sly, crazy genius,_ Shunsui narrowed his eyes as ideas began frothing in his head. _Now that I know your secret, what can I do with it?_

A near century of serving the Gotei together with the scientist had more than convinced Shunsui that the brilliance of the Kurotsuchi’s mind was outsized only by the fellow’s own ego. One immediate question rose to the forefront, but Shunsui knew without even trying that a direct approach with Kurotsuchi would guarantee only instantaneous rejection. Especially tonight, if the agitation streaking the scientist’s metallic reiatsu was anything to judge by.

That metallic reiatsu was currently entering the room beneath the roof he was sitting upon. Nemu-chan was following close behind. Curious, Shunsui craned all his senses.

“…stubborn, obstinate walking stick!” Kurotsuchi’s nasally voice was berating. “Nemu, why didn’t you say anything! You were there!”

“I was defeated by the subject, Kurotsuchi Taichou,” was the respectful emotionless reply of the soft-spoken enhanced artificial soul.

“That’s right, you were! How useless,” muttered Kurotsuchi, then again loudly berated, “Leave the file there and go back to your room! I need to think.”

“Yes, Kurotsuchi Taichou. Good night, Father.” The reiatsu of Nemu-chan began to depart and recede.

“Stubborn, obstinate, pigheaded old mule…” Kurotsuchi continued to mutter to himself. “Now I have to waste more time just to remind that decrepit brain this is what happens when he let _that man_ live! Of all the mulish, stone-headed…”

Shunsui frowned in puzzlement. _That man?_

There was a sudden silence from the room below. Then, abruptly, sounding quite loud and quite clearly from the window below him, Kurotsuchi’s nasal voice said, “There are exactly four souls in Soul Society neither my instruments nor I can sense. Of those four, only you, Kyouraku Taichou, will be brazen enough to sit spying outside my bedroom window.”

Caught, Shunsui unfurled his reiatsu a little and allowed a shadow layer of it to touch the agitated metallic signature beneath. Throwing aside all pretence of concealment, he simply held his hat to his head again, bent his spine over into a downward stretch, and looked into the window.

The upside-down black-and-white painted face of Kurotsuchi Mayuri glared at him from below mussed blue hair. The testy scientist had removed his one-horned white hat.

“What do you want?” Kurotsuchi demanded without preamble the instant his golden eyes landed on Shunsui, lipless white skeletal teeth somehow managing to look even more tightly gritted than usual.

“Merely to ask how an untested human boy could end up forcing you to resort to Nikushibuki,” Shunsui replied affably.

“What makes you think I’ll tell you?”

“From what I overheard, sounds like you need a little help getting Yama-jii’s attention.”

“I don’t need help. I just need patience. And even if I need help, I’m not taking it from any of you elders.”

“Ai, you wound me, Mayuri-kun!” Shunsui exaggerated his hurt tone as he purposely used the mad scientist’s first name with an affectionate honorific. “If you won’t accept my help, perhaps I could ask Ukitake to speak to Yama-jii for you instead? The jii-sama hardly ever resists the dulcet voice of my older brother.”

“Are you deaf? I said I won’t accept help from any of you elders!” The reptilian golden eyes flashed. “Now if you don’t have anything else to say, get out of my division!”

Shunsui grinned at him, then clasping his hat to his head, nodded once in good night. “I shall leave you then. Have a good rest.” Straightening, he rose to his full height, then paused when Kurotsuchi tossed out a warning.

“Remember, Kyouraku Taichou, there are exactly  _four_  souls in Soul Society neither my instruments nor I can sense. You may go undetected but not by my  _logic of deduction_. If I find anything amiss in here after this,  _I’ll know it’s you_.”

Snorting beneath his breath, Shunsui leapt upwards into shunpo.

With the mood Kurotsuchi was currently in, there would be no more talking to him tonight.

Tomorrow, however, was another day. 

# # # # # #

Shihouin Yoruichi accosted him in mid-shunpo.

Retracting his reiatsu, Shunsui stepped down onto the roof of the now-vacant quarters of former taichou of the Third Division and waited expectantly as she touched down a heartbeat later. She had always beaten him in shunpo tag, but with the vast difference in their reiatsu, if he had not been taking a leisurely pace, he was certain she would not have seen him at all.

“Out for a stroll?” she asked in her low purring alto with teasing golden eyes.

“Ai, after spying on me during the whole feast from the rooftops, and you weren’t waiting for me?” he asked with mock hurt.

A soft throaty laugh answered him. Shunsui could not help a well of male appreciation as he observed her. This was some woman. The missing century of her absence from Soul Society had imbued her with softer curves and brought out a large measure of enticing feminine mischief that had formerly been suppressed beneath heavy protocols of high nobility. If she was not so into Kisuke-kun, or for that matter, Jyuushirou, and if his own heart had not already been ceded to his gentle soul brother since he was fifteen, he would have pursued her himself for a brief exciting liaison.

“Still the same-old debauched flirt,” she was remarking with a lopsided grin. “And to be honest, yes. I was hoping to catch you for a discussion.” Her dark hand waved in the direction of the Twelfth. “But I noticed the direction you just came from. Perhaps I can cut the discussion short. Did you just try to ask Mayuri about his Quincy research?”

“Hmm.” Shunsui tapped his chin. So he was correct, Ishida-kun was a Quincy. And Yoruichi knew about it. “Why would I do that?”

“Perhaps it’s because you’re sensing something from one dinner that took me days to figure out?”

“Perhaps,” he allowed.

A look of annoyance flashed across her dark fine features. “Seriously? Are you still angry at me after all this time?”

That genuinely baffled him. “Angry at you?”

She snorted. “Don’t act the fool. You don’t show a thing but anyone who’s ever encroached on what is yours knows how possessive you really are.”

So _that_ was it. “Ai, Yoruichi-san, I’m afraid you maligned me!” he chuckled. “I never once begrudged your dalliance! Rather, I’ve always been a little proud of it.”

She raised a disbelieving purple brow.

“He’s very easy to love,” Shunsui smirked knowingly at her, chuckling again at her answering look of annoyance. “For all his high status and mysticism surrounding him, he’s truly very approachable. You aren’t the first or only one to attempt braving those tumultuous waters. And I must congratulate you on being the only one to succeed!”

An incredulous expression came over her face. He merely laughed in response. “I would’ve shortened my life considerably and incurred his endless irritation if I were to be possessive about him.” At her continuing unconvinced look, he relented a little and shared a bit of honesty. “Nay, Ukitake knows his own heart. He and I have loved each other for two thousand years and our regard for each other still continues to deepen. An occasional affair of a century or so by either one of us is not going to affect what we have.”

When her scepticism did not change, Shunsui finally softened. Drawing upon an old remembered pain, he allowed a little of it to show and quietly, told her, “And you gave him comfort at a time when he needed it most. When I couldn’t be there for him. I never forget anyone who lends him succour, especially in times when I can’t.”

She stared at him. Then a quiet awe grew in her dark fine features, followed by another lopsided grin, this time rueful. “I’m beginning to see that living for thousands of years truly changes a soul’s perspective.”

He would have given voice to his immediate response beginning with ‘ _When I was your age…_ ’ but decided to drop it, lest he came across as patronising. Jyuushirou often warned him how the younger taichou could be touchy about their immense age gap from the elders. So instead, Shunsui decided to answer her original question. “Kurotsuchi-san was beaten into liquefaction by a barely-trained and untested Quincy boy. I wished to know how he managed such a spectacular defeat. Alas, his mood tonight is foul. Apparently, Yama-jii is not listening to something he wanted to say.”

“Uryuu isn’t barely trained or untested. He was hunting and killing Hollows in the Living World years before Rukia ran into Ichigo.”

“Then I can see how this is upsetting our dear scientist. A few decades after your departure, Kurotsuchi-san made a huge fanfare of announcing he had completed all studies on Quincies.” He chuckled again. “No doubt Ishida-kun’s appearance is severely wounding his ego.”

“I don’t know Mayuri well, but since you think so, I’ll talk to Kisuke when I get back. What about Ichigo?” She looked intently at him. “What do you sense about him?”

“Something in his reiatsu tells me he’s related to Shiba Isshin, apart from the other strange combinations of Hollow and Quincy signatures I sensed in him,” he answered honestly. “Can Kisuke-kun and you look into that when you return? Kurosaki-kun is a pure-hearted child with immense potential that is yet untapped. It would be a terrible waste if neither he nor us know everything about the origins of his powers.” Then pointedly, with seriousness, he added, “If anyone tells you that ignorance is bliss, or what we don’t know can’t hurt us, I can tell you that is an absolute lie. Full knowledge is the key to everything. One innocuous little fact, once made known, can turn disaster into success.”

Golden eyes looked at him contemplatively, seemingly seeing something he was not privy to. “I seem to keep learning more and more wisdom tonight,” she softly remarked.

This time, Shunsui knew the exact words to say about the immense gaps in their ages and powers. “All the more so that you can pass it on after we’re gone, ne?” he quipped cheerfully.

# # # # # #

The first thing Shunsui noticed, as he flash-stepped over the tall, ancient wall of white stones delineating what had once been part of the Ukitake Family estate grounds, was the thin stream of softly flowing watery reiatsu deliberately left out for him, like a crumb indicating a hidden path. When he landed lightly onto the wide verandah lining the front of the pavilion lake house, the second thing he noticed was the dark cloth bundle left on the petrified cherry wood seat beside the bamboo blinds of the entryway. It had a folded note attached to its knot, with his name written in the handwriting of Nanao-chan. The cloth was one of a set of travel packing cloths which he habitually kept in the back of his wardrobe. When he picked up the bundle, a muffled clacking sound emitted from within its soft bulk. Opening the note, he smiled at the respectful but authoritative message.

> ‘ _Kyouraku Taichou,_
> 
> _These will tide you over for the week that I prefer you stay away from the divisional repairs. When I need you, I will find you. Please rest well._
> 
> _Yours loyally,  
>  __Nanao_ ’

He grinned wryly. Bless Nanao-chan’s perceptive little heart. She had understood without being told that he was more than happy to continue staying exactly where he was.

Humming beneath his breath, he ducked under the bamboo blinds and entered the small stone-slabbed foyer leading to the living room of the lake house. Another pair of [waraji](https://theculturetrip.com/asia/japan/articles/8-types-of-traditional-japanese-footwear/), narrower and smaller than his own, was already arranged on the slate stone step ready for the next day. Toeing off his own waraji and leaving them haphazardly beside the other pair, he removed his flowered pink silk kimono and carefully draped it on the kimono stand by the entryway, woefully fingering the soot stains on the treasured robe.

It would be difficult to clean, he estimated sadly.

Dispelling his momentary woe and leaving the matter for tomorrow, he hung his hat on one corner of the stand, then stepped up onto the clean tatami floor, silently padding over its springy surface into the serene interior of the living room.

Scents of tea, herbs and fresh peony blooms drifted in the air, wafting through the half-ajar interior shoji at the back of the room. Warm diffused light was emanating from the fluted blasted glass lampshade of the tall kidou lamp standing in the far corner. The expanse of wall beside the interior shoji was adorned almost from floor to ceiling beams with a tall, line art watercolour from an ancient master of an era long gone by, depicting a crane flying against a rising sun over a sea-washed cliff. The soft ambient light set off the discreet dark sheen of the polished aged cherry wood of the large square low table in the centre of the room, of the rich textured crimson silk of its attendant sitting cushions, and the low liquor-and-crockery cabinet chest of matching construction. Mingling with the kidou lamplight was the silvery light of the rising moon washing in from the circular bamboo-barred window above the chest. Save for these, nothing else marred its ascetic elegance and serene contemplative beauty of the room, a perfect reflection of the nature of the master of the estate.

Treading barefooted over the tatami floor, Shunsui made his way quietly across the living room towards the interior shoji and softly stepped through. The guest room came first, which was empty of furnishings save for a large cherry wood chest of drawers used for storing various household items, and a large wardrobe lining one entire wall. The shoji of the wardrobe stood opened to one side, exactly how he had left it that morning. Placing the cloth bundle on the waist-high set of drawers within the space, he untied the knot and uncovered a neatly-folded pile of clothes consisting of his spare haori, a few sets of shihakushou, one spare yukata of his, and a few clean fundoshi. A small dark kinchaku accompanied the pile, clearly the source of the soft clacking sound for it outlined a bottle shape. The scent coming from it told him it was a refill of his shaving soap. He quickly shook out and hung up his fresh clothing, then set the travel packing cloth aside and left the guest room, carrying the kinchaku by its drawstrings. Senses following the soft thin stream of watery reiatsu through the innermost shoji of the house, he entered the expansive master bedroom.

This innermost private space was serene and intimate, lit by another tall kidou lamp standing in the corner, the twin of the one in the living room, its warm diffused light turning almost black the wave pattern of the dark-maroon silk sheets of the large double-sized futon. On the floor on the left side of the futon, the slim elegantly curved length of Sougyo no Kotowari rested quietly, its crimson hilt blood-red in the warm low light. The dark-maroon summer quilt was turned down at one corner, the silk on its underside as blood-red as the hilt of the [tachi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tachi). The right side of the futon was turned down as well, waiting for him.

One after another he slid Katen Kyoukotsu from his pale green obi, first its tachi then its [wakizashi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wakizashi), and gently laid both side by side on the tatami floor next to the right side of the futon, their dark-blue hilts almost glistening black in the low lamplight. An inaudible thrum of displeasure rose in unison from both weapons and he silently soothed the ire, stroking his hand over both sheaths reassuringly.

_Rest, my dark mistress, for tonight belongs to my heart._

[ ** _I_** _am your heart,_ ] bit out her irritated voice.

_Yes you are. But you know how I am when it comes to him._

An annoyed, long-suffering sigh answered him. [ _Alright… I will let you have your way… **again**._]

_Thank you. You will not regret it, I promise._

With an air of disdain, she receded and left him alone for the night.

Rising, he padded around the futon, past the kimono stand and changing screen shielding the wall wardrobe, past the wide cherry wood cabinet which held a large collection of medicines and implements, and the shoji of the ensuite bathroom which had been left slightly ajar, his cheek momentarily warmed by a moist breath of steam redolent with the fresh alluring scent of peony as he walked past the small gap. Finally he reached the opened shoji leading to the bedroom’s verandah, and as he stepped upon its threshold, he paused, his gaze arrested by the glowing figure of the master of the estate.

Two thousand years, and the simple sight of Jyuushirou sitting in moonlight combing his long hair still stirred Shunsui as deeply as the first time he glimpsed it, all those millennia ago.

Noble delicate profile limned by moonlight, long-lashed dark eyes distant, lost in reverie upon the tranquil surface of the Ugendou lake, those slender, pale hands were running rhythmically through long damp streams of gleaming white hair with that antiquated pale-blue handled Shiba comb that was never replaced. As Jyuushirou absently laid drying lengths of his white tresses down one wide slanting shoulder, one side of his smooth alabaster throat was revealed to Shunsui’s gaze. He was loosely draped in the soft thin folds of his plain white [nagajuban](https://www.oldjapan.org/menskimono/glossary.html), the worn silk robe opened to below the delicate dent of his clavicles, its long wide sleeves fallen about his elbows revealing the smoothly flexing slender muscles of his white forearms and supple swordsman’s wrists as he removed the last tangles from his long hair. Finally he put the comb down, his fair arms disappearing from sight as the long sleeves fell to cover his hands. Then he turned towards Shunsui, and was about to speak when he noticed Shunsui’s silent regard.

Like a hidden bud silently blooming, the pensive expression over his angular fine features gave way to a soft flushing happiness.

As always, quiet amazement rose in Shunsui at that unguarded, frank response. Not for the first time in his two millennia of existence, he marvelled that such a simple thing like a loving gaze could elicit such a spontaneous quiet joy in his undemanding soul brother. Jyuushirou could have any soul he desired, yet he had chosen to share himself fully only with Shunsui. He took such pleasure in Shunsui’s simple reciprocation that it left Shunsui breathless.

“You are just in time.” Jyuushirou’s deep tenor was its usual gentle lyrical timbre. His finely carved lips were curling with pleasure beneath Shunsui’s continuing appreciation. He remained sitting seiza in his usual place, at the far end of the long low tea table. “I left hot water in the [ofuro](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Furo). Nanao-san came by earlier when I was in the bath. I am afraid she did not notice I was home.”

Shunsui allowed himself to admire the happy vision for several more heartbeats, then raised the kinchaku, its contents clacking softly. “She dropped off a change of clothes and refill of my shaving soap. I guess that means she’s ordering me to stay here for another week, ne?”

“Seems she deems this is the best place to deposit her taichou,” Jyuushirou teased with a smile. He nodded his pale square chin towards the bathroom. “Go on, now. I will not draw another if it gets cold.”

“Hah,” Shunsui snorted good-naturedly in return. “Wait for me, I won’t be long.”

Committing the sight of his moonlit love to his memory, Shunsui grinned, then turned and retraced his steps indoors and slipped quickly through the shoji into the bathroom, rapidly sliding the lightweight door shut behind him to prevent more steam from escaping.

He took a moment to inhale the heated, moist scented air in the hushed tranquillity, becoming acutely aware that he smelled of ash, soot and sweat. The washing stool, bucket, and his rice bran soap and washcloth awaited him on the ledge of the steaming ofuro, the wooden tub darkened and seasoned to near petrification from bathing generations of Ukitake clan heads since antiquity. Fresh shredded [peony](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Paeonia_lactiflora_%27Sarah_Bernhardt.jpg) blossoms floated on the steaming surface of the water, infusing the hot bath with cleansing and calming properties, their soft fragrance rising with the steam.

It was the perfect, very much needed and welcomed end to a long, nerve-racking day.

Moving swiftly, he made short and precise work of his cleansing ritual. The kinchaku contained new bottles of his particular shaving soap and freshening water, and he replaced the nearly empty old bottles on the mirrored cherry wood vanity counter. The counter surface held a wooden basin of hot water, infused with astringent chrysanthemum petals still floating on its steaming surface, the long handle of a bamboo ladle resting on its rim. Stripping off his soiled haori, shihakushou and fundoshi, he bundled and placed them on top of the closed wicker hamper, within which he spied another set of soiled taichou uniform. Last was his hair tie, and his valuable pinwheel hairpins, which he carefully laid on top of his bundled soiled clothes. Then without further ado, he padded over to the washing stool, sat down and began dipping buckets of scented hot water from the ofuro. His senses and nerves came alive as he sluiced himself under the hot streams, his skin and scalp lightening as he soaped up and vigorously scrubbed the lathery washcloth over every inch of himself, behind both ears, ending with a good strong scrub to his feet. He never wore tabi, hence he always cleansed his feet and toes thoroughly. Done, he rinsed himself off with more buckets of scented hot water until he was squeaky clean, then rose to his feet and swung over the edge of the deep wooden tub, sinking with a sigh into the hot fragrant water.

Infusions of fresh peony essences calmed him quickly as he inhaled the scent swirling with the steam. It was a prescription from Hanshi-sama from a long time ago, which Jyuushirou continued to soothe and protect his sensitive skin. When Shunsui was an overly energetic and ignorant pre-pubescent boy, he had adamantly refused to share Jyuushirou’s bathwater to help Yama-jii save on the expense of hot water, claiming that the flowery scent offended his masculine sensibilities. Then one morning, the fifteen-year-old him had woken up and decided that Jyuushirou was the only one he would ever love, and his complaints had immediately ceased. That very night he had taken his first soak, and he had stuck to it ever since learning that soaking in the same bathwater as his beloved older brother allowed him to carry Jyuushirou’s scent with him wherever he went.

The thought of Jyuushirou waiting for him made him sit up. Taking a breath, he dunked himself entirely underwater and scrubbed his fingers through his long hair for several heartbeats, before resurfacing with a splash. Wiping hot water from his face, feeling perfectly clean and relaxed, he rose and climbed out of the ofuro, then walked dripping wet to the vanity counter. He was particular about his shaving hence his shaving things were the only personal belongings he brought everywhere he resided. He prepared the blade and foam with speed and practice, then proceeded to groom his upper lip and jaws until he had trimmed his stubble to the light covering of fur he favoured, before finishing with splashes of astringent chrysanthemum hot water from the wooden basin. His sakura-painted ceramic oral hygiene set rested next to Jyuushirou’s pale-blue glazed earthen ones. Lathering up his small brush with his own tooth powder, he cleaned his teeth and entire palate, then finally rinsed his mouth and washed his grooming tools with ladles of water from the basin. Replacing everything neatly, he padded to the wall hooks where his disreputable, beige long yukata hung next to the large towelling sheet from the night before. Drying himself while shrugging on his ratty robe, he slid aside the shoji and returned to the master bedroom, towelling his hair as he returned to the verandah.

He paused, seeing the familiar bottle of warmed sake waiting for him with its matching sake dish. Beside them, awaiting his use, lay Jyuushirou’s comb, its pale blue handle shaped like a carp, bearing the sheen of long millennia of use. His eyes traced to the other end of the table, pausing in surprise upon the two crystalline bottles. The finely fluted leaping carp embossed on each bottle was still unstained and unchipped after all these centuries, each spherical glass stopper still shiny smooth, as though time had halted since he last saw them...

 _Nearly a thousand years ago,_ he realised with a mild start. _Where did the time go?_

He observed the twin glass receptacles. Instead of the flower essences he remembered, each bottle was now filled with a sparkling liquid, one pale blue and the other pale green, glittering like a pair of dancing stars on the polished dark wood of the table. They made a magical pretty sight, humbling the small, white ceramic teapot sitting atop a lit kidou stove, its accompanying white cup waiting beside it.

Jyuushirou had unfurled himself from seiza to sit with one long leg stretched out, the narrow blue-veined arch and shiny toenails of one white foot peeking from beneath the hems of his long robe, his other leg bent at its knee under the draping white fabric, propping up one sleeve-covered elbow. His long hair, now perfectly dry, hung down one shoulder in a smooth, gleaming white waterfall. One hand rested in his lap, its long pale fingers absently kneading a soft fold of his thin robe, as he sat watching the warming teapot and sparkling twin bottles. A fond reminiscence was glimmering in the depths of his dark eyes, his expression mildly wistful as he absently bit at his lower lip, the edges of his teeth like small white pearls on the soft pink of his bottom lip.

Shunsui traced his eyes over the perfect oval of that noble face, over those high delicate cheekbones to the small square chin and defined jawline. He drank in every gentle, finely moulded plane and curve of that wise demeanour, re-committing to memory the delicate masculine beauty he thought he would never see again. Keeping his gaze on his contemplative soul brother, he padded quietly to his place at the left end of the long low table and settled down cross-legged, towelling his hair dry as his gaze scoured over Jyuushirou, searching for remnants of injuries.

Within that gentleness and frailty was a fey fierce warrior of terrible elemental power, a scholar of frightening intellect and a leader of unshakeable honour, all whom Shunsui knew as well as his own soul and loved with his every reishi. That warrior and leader emerged today for the first time in three hundred years to block and shield him from the punishing inferno of Ryuujin Jakka, leaving himself open and unable to evade a severe blow which should have felled him. Yet it had not. Relief and gratitude rose when Shunsui could see no discernible injuries to the slender frame. There was no awkwardness or stiffness remaining in the way Jyuushirou sat. His love was well, alive and at peace before him.

It did not mean he was ready to forgive Yama-jii.

Three hundred years had Jyuushirou spent toiling away in their old sensei’s inner sanctum. It meant three hundred years away from the frontlines, with only the training fields and doujou as his physical outlets. Three hundred years might be mere drops in the two thousand years of strife through which Jyuushirou had survived, but it was enough forced inactivity to erode his already fragile health. In the last three centuries he had suffered increasing relapses and even longer, heartbreaking convalescences. To go from that, straight into a death duel with the most powerful shinigami of Soul Society, with no prior reconditioning, still suffering from his last relapse, and intent on protecting his stronger brother by shouldering all the blame… anger rose in Shunsui once again at Yama-jii’s obstinacy.

In Shunsui’s conscious mind he would never impugn Jyuushirou’s honour. Through two millennia of their hard lives together, he had never held Jyuushirou back from doing his duty even if it meant his love took the risks and dangers that came with their positions. They were shinigami. They put their lives on the line to uphold the balance and justice every single day.

But his heart and subconscious, they were entirely another matter. There in the deepest part of his soul where only black shadows surrounded a bleached, white gravestone carved with his name, Shunsui could look at himself and acknowledge his secret wish. If he listened, he could hear those shadows screaming that he could have lost Jyuushirou today. If he paid attention to those screams, he could hear accusing words that he was being the spoiled second brother, the second son, the younger disciple and the younger ward who placed himself before others. If he faced those accusations that he placed himself before others, he could see how he had always jealously, fiercely and passionately guarded Jyuushirou’s place by his side, in his life, in his heart and in his soul, no matter what, above all else.

Vehemently, he quelled his strident self-criticism. Silently and loudly he reminded himself it was precisely because he had so ferociously and unbendingly safeguarded Jyuushirou’s place in every part of his life, that Shunsui knew the true meaning of friendship, understood what integrity was, learnt how to look after others, became responsible. He was the leader he was because he lived with a daily living proof that compassion and generosity could command hearts and souls without a single harsh word, that true strength lay not in any bankai but in the implacability of the spirit and intent in face of impossible odds and certain doom. Jyuushirou grounded him, kept him honest. His desire and constant efforts to avoid burdening others with his fragile health roused Shunsui’s innate need to cherish and protect, and in loving and protecting Jyuushirou, Shunsui found fulfilment he never could find with anything else.

Even if he often had to shield his soul brother from his own lack of self-consideration and self-preservation, Shunsui took it in stride, for that was just the way Jyuushirou was, selfless to an exasperating, sometimes infuriating, fault.

But what he refused to take in stride was what he so often had to do in the last three centuries. Jyuushirou declined to the point where Shunsui often lived at the Ugendou for months on end to nurse his love back to his feet, only to have Yama-jii call him away again as soon as he recovered to carry out more lonely, secluded work out of sight and painfully, out of mind of most. For three hundred years he worked almost exclusively with their adoptive father and old sensei, toiling ceaselessly cloistered alone deep within Yama-jii’s inner sanctum without a word of complaint, where none saw or knew, with only the training fields and doujou of his division for his physical outlet. Yama-jii commandeered his time and energies with such mounting demands that he all but retreated from the frontlines, eventually becoming more of a recluse and living relic of the Gotei’s past, a mere figurehead of a paragon of ideals, than an actively serving senior taichou to be listened to, obeyed and followed. He faced increasing difficulties discharging his responsibilities to his division when he should not have. In a mere span of three centuries he was reduced to a shadow of who he was supposed to be, a powerful commander with over a millennium of battles and political victories in his wake.

Shunsui’s heart shattered every time he was reminded of how very few today knew the Jyuushirou who once had, without raising a single harsh word, rallied thousands upon thousands of brutish, coarse fighters to the cause of the Gotei and swelled their ranks so much that they could strike out on massive sweeping campaigns and long military occupations to suppress the violence across the realm and force the recalcitrant warring factions into order and peace. For Jyuushirou’s gifts were prodigious beyond the ken of the realm, and this was not only limited to his shinigami powers. Yama-jii had taken his soul brother’s phenomenal talents in politics, law and the arcane arts and used them, used him, without limits, without restraint. Perhaps Yama-jii felt justified, for it was he who had suffered great lengths and pains to bring forth these talents in Jyuushirou, but if that was true, then Shunsui could never understand how he could bear to destroy Jyuushirou like this. Whatever secret political machinations Yama-jii had so consumingly needed Jyuushirou for, Shunsui refused to accept that any of it could possibly justify the consequences it had wrought on his soul brother. Worse, Jyuushirou himself willingly, completely gave to Yama-jii’s secret quest without reserve. The only consolation Shunsui had throughout was that fellow taichou and friends who witnessed Yama-jii’s demands on Jyuushirou continued to treat him normally, instead of as a distant folklore figure. If Jyuushirou sometimes went overboard in expressing his gratitude, all simply accepted his reciprocations, and none had the heart to tell him otherwise.

And today, despite all of Jyuushirou’s willing silent sacrifice for three hundred years, instead of hearing him out, Yama-jii unleashed the most terrible zanpakutou in all of Soul Society to mete out a death sentence by incineration.

How was that any different from imposing on Rukia-chan the worst possible death sentence without trial over a moderate transgression?

 _You didn’t even have the excuse of being manipulated by Aizen, Yama-jii,_  he thought bitterly.  _Some fatherly love, ne?_

Even though things began to improve thirty years ago, the improvements had come at tragic cost to Jyuushirou and his division. Overnight Jyuushirou lost not only his cherished protégé, the late Kaien-kun, he also lost his Third Seat, the incredibly capable late Lady Miyako, wife of Kaien-kun. The Thirteenth would have fallen into disarray if Jyuushirou had not finally requested Yama-jii for leave of absence to tend to his division. Shunsui believed that Yama-jii consented only because the Thirteenth was the Gotei’s second largest division charged with the critical defence of the Seireitei’s northern and northwestern defences. Whether his belief was correct was no longer relevant, for it was then that Yama-jii finally saw and understood the devastation he had wrought on the one he had always called his most cherished son. He never called Jyuushirou into his inner sanctum again, and the improvement was almost immediate. As soon as Jyuushirou was freed from Yama-jii’s work, the vicious cycle of his relapse and recovery broke. In the midst of organising and conducting patrols and offensives against Hollows, and reconsolidating control and supervision over affairs with the Living World and liaison with the Kidou Corps, his health restored with a speed that clearly proved that the worst thing for his well-being was to keep him inactive and secluded away. There was even evidence for it now. When Rukia-chan went missing in the Living World, stress and worry once again struck Jyuushirou into a fresh long spell, but now that her death was averted, he had clearly bounced back, the speed of his recovery nothing short of miraculous.

Shunsui desperately hoped that this spell of stability would last, and the Ugendou would continue to be the home it was meant to be, as it had been during the last three decades. The preceding three centuries had seen the Ugendou serve more as Jyuushirou’s personal clinic and medicine-laden hospital ward than the private residence and haven it was originally meant to be, when it was converted from the Ukitake Family’s [chashitsu](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chashitsu) nearly seventeen centuries ago to serve as the Seireitei’s northernmost focal point from where he, and his future successors, could live and work close to their battle stations.

“I fear to guess at what you are thinking,” softly interrupted the gentle lyrical deep tenor of Jyuushirou’s voice.

Shunsui roused himself from his thoughts, and filed them away. He had learnt to keep his scathing criticisms to himself. The first few times he had voiced them, Jyuushirou had defended their old sensei and they had gotten into an argument. It was clear to Shunsui long ago that his loyal, selfless soul brother would never blame the shinigami who had raised him, taught him and rescued his family from destitution. He would never see that while Yama-jii staunchly dedicated his long life to upholding the balance, he had scarcely balanced his treatment of Jyuushirou. Jyuushirou unquestioningly accepted Yama-jii’s increasing demands and silently endured the indignity of losing his position on the frontlines, because he wholeheartedly believed he could never repay enough the succour their old sensei had given him.

Noting the returning colour to the alabaster skin, the reduced weariness to fine features, Shunsui remarked instead, “I haven’t heard a cough since I came in. And you aren’t moving stiffly. How are you healing? Yama-jii’s cure is worse than the injury.”

Jyuushirou absently laid one pale hand on his right side. “I will be fully recovered by dawn.”

Putting down his towelling sheet and picking up the comb, Shunsui began to comb out his tangles. The carp-shaped handle of the comb fit in his hand like it was made for him, and he supposed it had been, for it was the surviving half of a matched pair. After two thousand years of use, the handle was glossed to a shine and felt smooth and rich under his hand. Its teeth were made from the moisture-absorbing wood of a tree species that had become rarer over the centuries, and though now worn smooth as glass, they still worked beautifully, separating and drying Shunsui’s long wavy locks as he ran it through his damp strands. Despite his delicate constitution, Jyuushirou always had a healthy head of hair, so Shunsui simply shared this comb if it was available. His own, the other half of the pair with its suggestive carving of an oiran on its magenta handle, was lost centuries ago.

With a whisper of fabric, Jyuushirou gracefully drew in his legs and turned to sit cross-legged. He gestured at the tabletop with a long elegant hand. “I am supposed to take this every night for one month and record any changes. The potions are a Shihouin formula. From three hundred years ago.”

“Three hundred years is a long time. Even for us,” Shunsui returned meaningfully.

Jyuushirou looked up at his pointed words, his dark eyes immediately connecting with Shunsui’s thoughts. He inhaled a small breath and decided to ignore Shunsui’s unspoken meaning. Instead, he waved at the twin bottles of potions and commented, “I doubt these will change anything.”

“As long as it prevents any more of such prolonged relapse, it’s worth a shot, ne?” Shunsui replied, letting go of the silent issue between them for the time. “As much as I love us spending so much time together, I can’t welcome it if it comes at the cost of your suffering.”

At his choice of the last word, Jyuushirou’s dark eyes grew intent. “You are still angry at Sensei,” he stated softly, without question.

Shunsui sighed. “How can I not be? He didn’t even want to hear us out.” Voice involuntarily hard, he pointed out, “I wish you are at least a little angry.”

“I _was_ angry, but I was more afraid. My anger has passed, yet my fear remains.” In sudden discomfort, Jyuushirou looked away towards the small lake, its surface mirror still under the breezeless heat of the night. “As you rightly say, Sensei’s cure is worse than the injury. But I accept his punishment. I know what I had done. Of all in the Gotei, it is I who should not resort to such extremes. He entrusted me with full knowledge of our position, he would not have given me this burden if he had a choice. I know well that even today, he still has no other option.” Pain lanced across his pale face, and with soft anguish, he confessed, “But Rukia is all I have left of Kaien. He taught her for fifty years, she embodies everything he imparted to her. I cannot lose her too.” When he looked back again, the fear he had that afternoon was once again in his pale face. “Sensei might have healed me and listened in the end, but I am afraid I have broken his trust irreparably. I know I should have reported to him as soon as the Chamber ignored my request for emergency audience. But I did not. I feared that he would see through me and see that I had chosen my last reminder of Kaien over my duty to the Gotei and to him. I could not tell you this in Senpai’s presence, she will try to defend me to Sensei and I will cause friction between them. I cannot allow that. Because I realise that if I am given a choice again, I would still choose to save Rukia over my duty.”

“Ai, Jyuushirou, choosing something for yourself simply because you desire it is no crime!” Shunsui disagreed with exasperation. “After all these thousands of years, what have you ever decided and done for yourself for no other purpose than simply because you want it? I can’t think of any. Even this place,” he waved his hands about the verandah and their abode, “this is the most you ever gave yourself, but even this you gave it in the first place to serve the cause of the Gotei. The [gyokuro](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gyokuro) tea and [purple](https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/319958.php) rice you take every meal? You go to that expense only because in the long run they make the most economic sense to support your health. The silk kimono and haori in your wardrobe? You have them only because I made them for you. Don’t you think it’s time you have something for yourself for no other reason than simply because you want it?”

Jyuushirou looked affronted. “There was something I wanted which I took only because I wanted it. You, Shunsui.”

That subsided Shunsui. But only a little. “And how long did it take me to persuade you?” he reminded wryly, then with a slight leer, gently ribbed, “How long did it take me to give you your first kiss?”

Dark eyes lowered in embarrassment.

“Ai, Amai’take, I understand your worry but I wish you can see what I see. What everyone else sees,” Shunsui sighed. “What you fear will never come to pass. Yama-jii always simmers down fast when it comes to you.  _That_  is the universal constant across all realms, even more unchanging than this government of ours.” Unable to help himself, he added with a critical snort, “Besides, you’re too valuable to him. He uses you mercilessly like a weapon because he knows your capabilities. He isn’t going to let something like this cause a rift with you.”

“He does not use me, I consented to every task-” Jyuushirou began with some upset.

“Of course you consented,” Shunsui interrupted. “He knows how dedicated you are to the mission and he manipulates you into voluntary commitment. And while your powers are elemental like his, my gentle brother, your nature is as far from him as the moon is different from the sun. You guide, you soothe, and calm and aid and facilitate. While he, he may nurture, may grow you, but he also burns, demands, and uses, and blinds. I know him in a way you don’t, because it takes one to know one.”

Jyuushirou bit his lip in silence and looked away. His disagreement was clear, but he had chosen not to argue.

Shunsui shook his head resignedly at his love’s denial. “Whatever it was that you two were busy with, however many secrets he entrusted you with, he should still have listened. The greater the power one has, the more circumspect one must be when using it, and the more patient and more open one must be before deciding whether to use that power. He taught you this, and you in turn taught it to me.” He sighed. “But today he didn’t even want to hear us out. He’s at a level of discipline so much higher than us, you would think his control over his emotions and responses is much greater than ours. Yet he didn’t even think to question the strange sentence.”

“Sensei is no longer in the position to question the Chamber,” Jyuushirou said quietly. His gaze returned to Shunsui, dark eyes apologetic and beseeching. “I cannot tell you more than this because I swore an oath of secrecy, but please believe me, my young brother.”

“Then he better tell us tomorrow about these developments he spoke of today,” Shunsui replied sombrely. “It’s been three centuries. I’m heartily tired of seeing him wear you out until you can’t keep your illness at bay, make a mess of you, and doing it again after I fixed you. I need to know why he did it again and again.”

“You sound just like Senpai when you say that,” Jyuushirou muttered dejectedly. Sighing, he offered Shunsui a wan, troubled smile. “I hope he will speak of it as well. Ichigo-kun’s deeds changed many things. I feel it is time Sensei shared so that all four of us can work on it together, like how we always have.”

Shunsui gazed at the pale, finely angled face with hopeless affection and helpless exasperation. Despite experiencing much more deeply of the extreme passions of the souls still cycling through the balance, Jyuushirou still remained more of a pure soul than Shunsui could ever be, with that inborn placidity to forgive quickly and simply move on.

It was this precise characteristic which had first pulled at the strings Shunsui’s heart.

So instead of answering, he smiled. “Ai, let’s talk about him no longer, Amai’take. Our time together is too precious and better spent on us.” Subsiding, he looked at his love in concern. “Are you certain you’re well enough to return to duty?”

Jyuushirou agreed with his request by way of his reply. “Effective tomorrow morning, I will be well.”

The spout of the teapot began to emit steam, indicating the water was boiling. With the barest flick of one long finger, Jyuushirou doused the kidou flame and deftly lifted the lid of the teapot, gently allowing it hang down its side suspended by its bamboo fibre string. Carefully, he lifted the bottle of sparking pale-blue potion, removed its stopper, and tilted its mouth over the opened teapot until one single drop fell into the steaming water. Stoppering the bottle, he repeated the process with the other bottle of sparkling pale-green liquid. A piercing nostril-curling odour leapt upwards when the two droplets mixed, then just as quickly vanished completely, leaving behind the impression that the olfactory senses had perhaps imagined the stomach-gagging revolting odour.

“I sincerely hope it will not taste as bad as that just smelled,” Jyuushirou murmured, staring aghast at the steaming teapot. “I am completely out of honey.”

Shunsui huffed a soft, fond chuckle. Incredibly, two millennia of consuming horrid-tasting medicines daily still failed to desensitise Jyuushirou to the foulness of medicinal brews and concoctions.

Then the comb ran into a snag at the back of his head, too close to his scalp for him to pull the lock of hair around to see. He set the comb down and tried to tease the knot apart with his fingers.

Dark eyes rose at his activity, then Jyuushirou silently flowed to his feet in one smooth movement. Soundlessly padding around the table on his bare feet, he knelt behind Shunsui and gently took over the task, the faint scent of peony rising from him from his close proximity.

“You dunked your head again,” he chided softly, his gentle fingers working against Shunsui’s scalp.

“I wanted to hurry,” he replied, relaxing against the familiar ministrations.

“I was willing to wait,” came the amused murmur.

“I wasn’t,” Shunsui quipped cheekily. He gestured at the two sparkling bottles. “I see she kept the bottles.”

“Yes.” The knot was teased out, then a white hand reached over his shoulder, palm up. Shunsui picked up the comb and put it into the slender hand. Slow combing began, the soothing movement beginning from his scalp until the ends of his hair. “I never realised. I thought I was the sentimental one.”

“She is sentimental only about certain things. Or people. Maybe… just one person.”

The rhythmic combing momentarily paused, then resumed.

If anyone asked Shunsui if he ever felt jealous of Jyuushirou’s relationship with Hanshi-sama, Shunsui would correct the person and describe his feelings for what it truly was, a mixture of envy and comfort. Envy that she had Jyuushirou for the time that Shunsui could not, and comfort in the secure knowledge that his love was not left bereft of support when Shunsui had to be away. It had been a long time ago. Devastation had pushed down from the north, while ceaseless feudal wars continued to brew across the densely populated territories from the west to the south. Yama-jii had thus paired Jyuushirou with Hanshi-sama to lead from the Seireitei their melee contingents and diplomatic corps to force peace onto the violent recalcitrant warlords with precision strikes and dexterous negotiations, while he took Shunsui with him northwards to meet the brutal northern foe with their combined indiscriminate bankai. It was a lethal combination that worked well and worked rapidly, until treachery blindsided them.

The sudden unwanted memory sent his hand to grasp the one combing his hair. Closing his fingers around the strong slender appendage, he brought it over his shoulder and placed his face against its warm silken palm, breathing in the faint peony fragrance on the skin. His cheek felt every callus from hilt and inkbrush and every flex of the sinewy flexible strength beneath. Reflexively, the long fingers curled about his jaw, stroking tenderly.

“What is it?” Jyuushirou’s deep tenor was concerned.

“Can’t a man want to feel the hand of his beloved?” Shunsui evaded with a flirty tease.

In response, the fingers tickled him lightly under his jaw, his weak spot. Sniggering, he let go and turned around, meeting laughing mahogany eyes and a faint amused smile. Reaching back one hand, he tugged playfully at one end of a long stream of white hair. “You drive a man crazy, you know that?”

“As do you.” Jyuushirou’s faint smile bloomed into a full one. Rising to his feet, he gestured despondently at the waiting teapot as he walked back to his place, settling down cross-legged in his usual place again. “I guess I should get it over with,” he murmured morosely, wrinkling his patrician nose as he tapped his comb against his chin.

Shunsui burst into chuckles.

“What.” Dark eyes stared at him, a little disgruntled.

“How many battles have we fought together? I can no longer distinguish between the memories of you drenched in gory blood and internal bits of stinking organs and body parts, and yet here you are wrinkling your pert little nose at a tiny well-meaning teapot of diluted medicine.” He subsided fondly. “Amai’take, you’re the most alluring bunch of contradictions.”

“Smelly enemy blood and body parts do not go onto my taste buds nor into my stomach,” Jyuushirou pointed out primly.

Laughing softly, Shunsui reached across and lightly tapped the tip of the beloved nose with one finger. “Your olfactory sense is on your lovely face, my beautiful moon kami, not in your stomach, which I know without looking is just as beautiful, unlike the stomachs of us mere ordinary souls.”

His compliment, as tacky as it was, wrung forth a mirth from Jyuushirou that chased away his affronted expression. His answering laugh was melodious and light in Shunsui’s ears as he threw up his hands in mock surrender and set his comb aside. “If you are trying to flatter me into taking my medicine, you have succeeded. You certainly know how to make a sickly man feel good about himself.”

“And how many times have I told you you’re not sickly? Merely afflicted.”

“Semantics.” The wide sloping shoulders shrugged elegantly. With a long angular hand, Jyuushirou picked up the still hot teapot by its bamboo handle, and skilfully poured and filled its accompanying cup. The steaming water was clear.

“It does not look bad,” he observed with trepidatious hope.

“Perhaps I should taste it first,” Shunsui suggested, feeling caution rise. Medicines powerful enough to aid Jyuushirou were almost always extremely deceptively mild. “Then give you a warning if it does.”

Jyuushirou declined with a slight shake of his head as he put the teapot back on the kidou stove. “I appreciate the thought, but it is best I get over this myself.” He suddenly grinned. “I will just think of smelly blood and gore as I drink.”

Shunsui clutched his hand to his heart. “Ai, be still my pounding heart! My Amai’take is not only beautiful, he is also brave!”

Long arching black brows rose at him.

“My beautiful, brave Amai’take!” He laid it on, breathing the words melodramatically.

Jyuushirou broke up into a spate of inelegant chortles. “Only you, Kyouraku, can turn a whisper of sweet nothings into a comedy!”

“That’s because I’m endlessly inspired whenever I’m in the enthralling presence of my otherworldly muse,” Shunsui replied, his heart in his mouth despite his deliberate theatrics.

Dark eyes filling with warm, shining love, Jyuushirou subsided, his expression moved. With a silent smile, he wrapped both hands around his tea cup, lifted it and took a careful sip.

Shunsui watched him, offering comfort by his silence. The fair angular face blanched at the first sip, then visibly shuttering into a steely expression, quickly sipped the hot liquid, clearly hurrying to finish the brew as fast as possible to shorten the nasty experience. Wordlessly, Shunsui summoned a cooling spell and with one fingertip, released it over the surface of the teapot until the steam lessened noticeably. When Jyuushirou finished the first cup, Shunsui poured him the second, emptying the small teapot. With a grateful look, Jyuushirou sipped the second cup, and when he felt that the liquid was cool enough, quickly finished it in two quick gulps. Placing the cup down on the table, he grimaced, then looked at Shunsui, unable to hide his dread.

“It’s that bad, I guess,” Shunsui concluded sadly.

“One month less one day to go,” Jyuushirou counted with a weak, dreary smile.

Shunsui poured a dish of sake then handed it over. “Wash out the taste,” he advised.

“I am not supposed to mix medication with alcohol,” said Jyuushirou, then promptly accepted the dish and emptied it in one tilt, rolling the mouthful about his palate before swallowing.

“I’ll send for an emergency batch of my family’s estate honey tomorrow morning,” Shunsui consoled. “A  _big_  batch. Then you can put as much of it as you wish to make the rest of the month tolerable.”

“Thank you,” Jyuushirou said with clear appreciation. “I will truly require it. I do not think I can withstand one more dose of that without aid.”

Curiously, Shunsui picked up the two sparkling bottles and examined them. “Strange how something so pretty can taste so foul,” he commented wonderingly. Then inspiration struck him, and aloud, he intoned solemnly, “Then again, this reminds me that life is always about balance. Where there’s dark, there’ll always be light.” He appreciatively eyed his love across the table. “Much more than anyone in Soul Society, ‘tis I who know best that the most lethal power is concealed and wielded by the most beautiful vessel.”

His oblique compliments sent a faint pink rising in Jyuushirou’s cheekbones. In pleasure his dark lashes lowered, and his lips curved into a small happy smile. Two millennia of violence, bloodshed, treachery and loss, yet Jyuushirou still retained his innate bashfulness. Shunsui felt as charmed as if he was eighteen years old again confessing his feelings for the first time to his shy twenty-one-year-old disciple-brother. Carefully he replaced the two small bottles of potions on the table, and smiling at his love, he poured and drank another dish of sake, mentally composing a prose to rouse Jyuushirou into the right mood.

Jyuushirou, the serious, responsible soul that he was, had other ideas, however.

“I wish I could listen to your words of praise forever,” he said, though his smile remained softly pleased. “However, we have to present ourselves to Sensei tomorrow evening. And my day tomorrow will be full managing our human friends and preparing the Senkaimon.” His dark gaze became intent. “Have you discovered what you wished after I left you with our guests in the mess hall?”

“Ai, Amai’take, do we really have to speak of work? The moon is so particularly round tonight and its light is so pure and becoming on you.” He gave a wink.

The dark eyes shimmered with humour even as the alabaster expression became serious. But instead of replying, Jyuushirou merely waited.

That gentle implacability always worked on Shunsui. Sighing ruefully, he emptied his dish of sake in one tilt. “I’ll give you a summary so that we can quickly return to more pleasant things.” Sobering himself quickly, he swiftly, concisely recounted his findings and perceptions of the night, but deliberately left out his inadvertent macabre discovery in Kurotsuchi’s private laboratory tanks. “It seems there must be more about the Quincies which our mad scientist colleague still doesn’t know, despite his claims. And I don’t think that bodes well. You know me, I never liked unknowns.”

Jyuushirou’s expression deepened. “I am glad you sensed the same signatures as I did,” he said quietly, then he looked at Shunsui. “I can confirm right now one of your sensing. When Ichigo-kun refilled my sake dish tonight, his fingertips accidentally touched my hand. Even though the contact was brief, it was enough for me. I know Kaien’s signature well. I am certain Ichigo-kun has Shiba blood in him. I did not probe his reiatsu for he was sitting right next to me and I did not want to risk discovery.”

Shunsui rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We always suspected Isshin was not dead but gone into hiding somewhere in Naruki City. But now, all clues seem to point to him hiding in Karakura Town.”

Jyuushirou pondered. “If that is the case, then it is clear Kisuke must know of Isshin’s whereabouts.” With sadness, he added, “Perhaps he never let on about his knowledge in our brief correspondences because I am too close to Sensei. I suppose he fears the consequences if I knew.”

“Or perhaps he simply wishes to protect you,” Shunsui pointed out gently. “You can’t lie about what you don’t know.”

“Perhaps,” Jyuushirou sighed. “I think a trip to the Living World is in order. It is time I meet with Kisuke personally.” Then he hesitated. “However, I do not think that Sensei will allow me to make any trip there if I do not issue the Daikoushou Shinigami Daikou to Ichigo-kun.”

Shunsui frowned. “You devised the daikoushou specifically to collect evidence against Ginjou Kyuugo. All taichou agreed to make it into a permanent rule without exceptions because we feared all humans exhibiting shinigami powers will be like Ginjou. But Ichigo-kun is far from a murderer. So are his friends. I sensed no duplicity or ill intent in any of them. When we tell Yama-jii this, doubtless he’ll leave it to you to ensure the boy voluntarily accepts the daikoushou.” Shunsui poured another dish. “Leaving the dirty job to you, as always,” he muttered with some rancour, then downed the whole dish in one go.

Jyuushirou let the resentful remark pass without comment. “I do not think we can conceal the truth of the daikoushou from Ichigo-kun,” he said instead. “He is very perceptive, for all his forthrightness. He is bound to realise sooner rather than later that the daikoushou is merely functional and holds no real authority. I estimate that he will realise it much more quickly than Ginjou.”

“And when he does, it’ll once again come down to his choice before his fate is decided,” Shunsui added, then brightened. “But I very much doubt that Kurosaki-kun will make the wrong choice. There’s nothing selfish or ambitious in him that I could pick up on.”

“I agree with your judgement, for I too sensed the same,” Jyuushirou said, then sighed ruefully. “I made the device and wrote the law on the daikoushou hence I must abide by my own rules. Still, it sits ill with me to intentionally deceive our new friend and ally.”

“If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s your ability to turnaround a troublesome situation. I’m confident you’ll figure out a way to please Yama-jii while keeping us honest with Kurosaki-kun.” Shunsui poured and drank again. Then a dark thought occurred to him. “However, we still don’t know the whereabouts of Ginjou Kyuugo. At the rate Kurosaki-kun is leaking reiatsu and leaving a wide trail of himself everywhere, our lost former Shinigami Daikou will find it easy to track him down and may just show up.”

Jyuushirou was alarmed. “Then Ichigo-kun  _must_  be informed! We cannot let him misunderstand that we are using him as bait when we are not. He is just a child!”

“A child?” Shunsui chuckled. “Yare, yare, one who has enough power to resist unscathed the first strike of the Kikou’ou and then subsequently cleave the Soukyoku stand into two, is no longer a child.”

“His powers are indeed great, but his heart is still so young!”

“Untainted and unjaded, but not young or childish.” Shunsui gazed fondly at the fine anxious face. “Relax, let’s just take it one thing at the time. Right now, the problem is figuring out how not to subject Kurosaki-kun to the same rules as Ginjou. The rest will fall into place by themselves once the first question is resolved.” He looked appreciatively across at Jyuushirou. “Besides, you’ve made a real impression on the boy tonight. At first, I thought he was influenced by Rukia-chan’s praises of her taichou and her division, but that wasn’t what I saw. Kurosaki-kun looks up to you all entirely on your own merits. His regard for you is all on his own volition. And…” He softened his tone. “I know what you feel when you look at him.”

Jyuushirou unconsciously covered his heart with one pale hand. His words, however, rang contrary to his instinctive action. “I know he is not Kaien, despite the great resemblance. Yet, I do not think I can bear it if he later does not forgive me when he finds out the true history of the daikoushou.”

“He’ll know you didn’t decide this alone. I’ll ensure he knows. If it comes to that, I’ll speak to the boy myself.” Shunsui started to pour, then felt the lightness of the bottle. Putting down the dish, he raised the bottle mouth to his lips, taking a long satisfying swig, emptying it. He put the bottle down. “It won’t come to bitterness, Jyuushirou,” he said with all the certainty he felt to his reishi. “Of that I am certain. Have a little faith in our young friend. As I always have faith in you.”

Dark eyes looked gratefully at him. Then noticing his empty sake bottle, a white hand reached out. “I will fetch you a refill.”

Shunsui clasped the slender hand in his own and smiled warmly. “I am done for the night.”

Jyuushirou nodded and started to withdraw his hand, looking up inquiringly when Shunsui refused to let go.

“Are we now finished discussing work?” he asked, his tone teasing but his manner intent and intimate. He glanced up at the rising moon, then back again at his love, letting his emotions show themselves on his face. “It’s been a long, harrowing day. I need to feel you in my arms.”

A slow smile of anticipation curled Jyuushirou’s small finely carved mouth. “What do you have in mind?” 

# # # # # #

Shunsui tugged gently on the smaller hand in his grasp. “C’mere,” he murmured, giving a mysterious smile.

Expression amused and not a little curious, Jyuushirou followed the direction of Shunsui’s pull and rose to his knees, gracefully shuffling across the polished wood floor, long white hair swaying slightly with his movements until he knelt in seiza before Shunsui, his hand still held captive in Shunsui’s own. His faint scent of peony once again drifted to Shunsui.

Allowing a slow smile to unfurl, Shunsui gestured with his free hand at the moonlit night sky and the tranquil lake. “As I was saying, the moon tonight is especially round, and its light especially pure.”

Jyuushirou tilted his luminescent white head quizzically. “Poetry? Or prose?” he tried guessing.

It always happened that when Shunsui finally won the full, formidable focus of those dark eyes, all his mental faculties suddenly became riddled with blank holes. He mentally rifled through the various strings of prose he had subconsciously composed, but when he finally latched onto one, it was an entirely new imagery which revealed a path straight into his heart, and made him appear a lame, besotted fool.

But as he beheld Jyuushirou’s deep glimmering mahogany eyes, his quiet inquisitive anticipation on his finely moulded face, Shunsui admitted that when it came to Jyuushirou, he willingly, gladly bore the label of a lame, besotted fool. He cared not that it would debunk his carefully cultivated public persona of a slothful, hard drinking, flamboyant bisexual rake, because in his heart, only what Jyuushirou thought of him mattered.

So in answer to his soul brother’s question, he lifted the pale hand and kissed the fine skin of its back, breathing in its fragrance. He placed one lingering kiss on each smooth knuckle, then gently held up the elegant appendage with both hands, reverently unfolding each long white finger in the moonlight.

“Look at how the moonlight becomes your hand, Amai’take. It lights your fingers from within.” He kissed each finger, his lips feeling the hilt calluses and the supple corded strength flowing within each slender digit. Gently, he drew back the soft sleeve, revealing the finely wrought pale supple wrist. “It lights your wrist, as if your very skin is glowing.” He softly kissed the graceful joint, the faint scent of peony stronger now, mouthing the delicate skin, slowly moving his mouth around until he reached the inner wrist, then the pulse point, whose fluttering beats cradled the reiatsu vent as the familiar ebb and flow of the beloved signature rolled over Shunsui’s lips from the sensitive spot. A tremor went through the limb in his hands as Shunsui kissed and nuzzled lightly against the vulnerable zone, hearing a soft inhalation of breath from beside him. He drew the sleeve further back, exposing the smooth gilded forearm to the elbow, his mouth tracing the skin on the inside of the slender limb, as fine and tender as a toddler’s, breathing in the flower perfume of the supple flesh, not quite yet a musk.

“Do you hear the moon sigh in jealousy, Amai’take? It knows even its light cannot compare to you, can only humbly adorn your beauty.” He raised his eyes, gazing into the widened dark eyes, seeing the arousal and surprise spreading deep in their depths.

“How… where did you learn that?” Jyuushirou’s deep lyrical tenor was now tremulously husky.

“Mm, there’re texts of a lurid nature unfit for the eyes of one as pure as you,” Shunsui murmured with sudden mischief, his own voice now roughened. Reaching out his other hand, he gently wrapped his palm behind the fine nape, burying his fingers in the cool heavy silk of thick tresses, and drew the enthralled face towards him until their foreheads were resting together.

“Do you hear the winds and the clouds chastise the moon, Amai’take? They chastise the moon for daring to contest its light to yours.” He released the captive hand and raising both of his own, threaded his fingers through the heavy waterfall of gleaming white silken hair to hold the delicately angled face between his palms. Cupping the finely defined jaw, he tilted the beloved noble face slightly so that moonlight shone upon the unblemished alabaster skin. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Like the moon kami come to life.”

A faint flush crept up Jyuushirou’s pale high cheekbones as his dark lashes fluttered down in a heavy-lidded dark gaze. “Shunsui…” His deep tenor dropped to a whisper.

Shunsui slowly slid his hands down the elegant silky neck and pushed the soft collar apart, sliding the fabric over the wide slant of the slender shoulders until its folds fell down the finely gilded chest, revealing luminous creamy skin over lean defined pectorals. Jyuushirou’s pale hand involuntarily clutched the soft thin silk against his heart in reflexive shyness as his shoulders were exposed to Shunsui's gaze, completely unconscious of how enticing his bashful response was. His white gleaming tresses curtained him in smooth silken streams, the lustrous strands tousled over the porcelain rounded points of his shoulders, the fine masculine delicacy igniting a flood of lust through Shunsui's senses.

Giving in, Shunsui lunged forwards to nuzzle a juncture of the white neck and sloping shoulder, kissing and mouthing the tender skin, inhaling deeply of the now stronger peony musk as he felt a strong slender hand wrap over his bicep. Jyuushirou shuddered under his ministrations, then tilted his head to allow better access as Shunsui held the slender nape and pressed the tender white skin first against his nose, scenting its peony fragrance, then against his mouth as he kissed and sucked lightly, and then drew fluttering butterfly kisses over one fine, delicate collarbone, over the pale rounded point of one creamy shoulder, down one toned supple alabaster bicep, over the firm yielding pectoral muscle heaving slightly above the half-fallen robe, then over the other pectoral, across the other collarbone, and down the other firm supple bicep. He gentled the quivering slender white shoulders between his hands as his lips glided over skin like silk like cream over steel, the soft flower musk making his head swim. Raising his head, he gazed at Jyuushirou and heat burned through his veins at the sight that greeted him.

Jyuushirou was breathtakingly mussed, his dark eyes aflame, his sculpted lips pale pink and slightly parted, faint colour high on his cheekbones. His long white hair was a gleaming mass about his shoulders, his chest above the soft folds of his white silk robe smooth and clear and luminescent under the moon, gilded with supple muscles, making him appear like a yousei swordsman of mystical lore. He still knelt seiza before Shunsui, one pale hand modestly grasping the front of his robe to his heart, the other hand clenched tight on Shunsui’s arm, his dark eyes hazy and his expression aroused yet shy. Thus he surprised Shunsui when he dove forwards with a sudden moan, his soft hungry mouth plying a desperate kiss onto Shunsui’s own, his breaths scented with chrysanthemum and lingering traces of sake, the peony musk of his skin and hair enveloping Shunsui in a heady perfume.

Shunsui clasped the long pliant back against him, his hands spanning the deep valley between finely curved shoulder blades, gently bending the flexible spine towards his own chest, feeling Jyuushirou meld against him like the slender bamboo sapling of his namesake. Returning Jyuushirou’s kiss with passion, Shunsui moved his mouth over the fine white jawline, down the long arching throat as Jyuushirou’s head fell back with a soft hitch, his dark lashes fluttering closed. Holding the strong yielding torso against him, Shunsui slid his hands under the smoothly coiled long hamstrings then lifted once, and Jyuushirou was sitting in his lap, the soft robe separating as his long toned white thighs parted and clasped around Shunsui’s waist, his smooth heels locking firmly at the small of Shunsui’s back, the sinewy strength of his swordsman’s hands clutching Shunsui’s head against the firm resilient curves of his heaving, finely muscled pectorals. Shunsui delved deep against the warm quivering skin, his senses now drunk with heady peony musk as he kissed and mouthed the trembling muscles, over small flat pink nipples, lapping them to pointed hard nubs, drawing a deep tenor shuddering groan from Jyuushirou’s panting, silken chest. Then clasping the small firm buttocks in both hands, Shunsui rose to his feet, carrying his fey, lust-hazed lover into the room, unerringly heading for the wide futon.

As soon as his feet touched its cushioned surface he tumbled to his knees and fell forwards, Jyuushirou falling back upon the dark sheets, his long gleaming mane clouding in a fine silken mass about his head. His dark eyes shone fiercely as his robe fell completely open, exposing his torso to Shunsui’s hungry gaze, the bunched sleeves trapping his forearms within its mussed folds. His alabaster skin was incandescent upon the dark maroon of the silk sheets, marred only by the very faint white thread of an ancient scar that lined the middle of his torso from chest to navel, his glowing supple body gilded and toned with a swordsman’s agility and athleticism, inviting ravishment, anticipating Shunsui’s hungry touch…

Shunsui stopped, his gaze arrested. Fingers trembling, he gingerly traced the faint, distinctive shape on Jyuushirou’s right side, in the midst of the cloud of hazy yellow bruise marring his pale skin from ribs to waist.

Yama-jii’s handprint.

It was healing, vanishing little by little even as he watched.

Pale hands strained against the folds of the long sleeves binding them, one succeeding in reaching up enough to cover Shunsui’s hand. “It will be gone by the morning,” Jyuushirou breathed hurriedly, his voice hitching with need. “Shunsui, please…”

“Does it hurt?” Shunsui needed to know, his own voice hoarse in his ears.

“It is no matter,” Jyuushirou gasped, still too honest to lie even when urgent with passion. “Shunsui, please… make love to me…”

The gentle, captive plea wrenched a deep guttural groan from the depths of Shunsui’s soul. In one smooth motion, he tore off the belt of his yukata and shrugged the robe off completely, flinging it behind him in a billow. Bracing himself on his knees between the long white thighs, one hand on either side of the white shoulders, his own wavy locks hanging down over them like a dark curtain of privacy, Shunsui took a moment to stare down, drinking in the heady sight beneath him, at the heavenly display of his best friend, soul brother and lover, whose dark impassioned eyes stared up at him as he lay trembling, wordlessly writhing with silent pleas to be touched touch, his elegant tapering body glowing like fine bone china upon mussed silks of white and dark maroon, driving Shunsui mad with crazed lust.

In that moment, Shunsui lived forever.

His soul reverberated with his deepest secret conviction that no matter where Jyuushirou went, in this realm or another, he would eventually follow, and find him, and join him, and join with him.

“Please,” Jyuushirou beseeched softly, urgently, his restrained hands helplessly reaching for him.

Shunsui hesitated no further.

Solely with his upper body strength, he lowered himself onto the one who held his soul, his mouth descending onto warm white skin like silk like cream over pliable iron, his senses intoxicated with the heady perfume of peony and musk that could only be Jyuushirou. His tongue and mouth laved a trail down the heaving chest and toned flat abdomen, then balancing on his elbows he gently spanned his hands on both sides of the long slight curve of the narrow waist and clasped the flat navel against his mouth, his grip careful and tender on the still healing bruise, his hands possessively grasping the slight flare of the slender hips. As he nuzzled the smooth concave pelvis, the heated silky curving rod of Jyuushirou’s manhood pressed under his chin, and once again he marvelled at how Jyuushirou’s skin had remained as hairless as a young child. And as the lean flexible pelvis arched towards his mouth with an accompanying musical groan, in one seamless move Shunsui swallowed the elegant pearling manhood, powerfully hollowing his cheeks and sucking once, twice, thrice, repeating the rhythm again and again until with a tearing cry Jyuushirou arched up, clamping strong supple thighs around Shunsui’s head and shoulders, tangling fine sinewy hands in Shunsui’s hair, and orgasmed in long scalding streams to the back of Shunsui’s throat.

Shunsui kept the precious fluid in his mouth to near overflowing, then without waiting, released the hot slippery ejaculate into one palm and slathered it over himself, coating himself to his hilt, and brusquely, grasping the long trembling thighs and pulling them apart, his tanned fingers almost brutal on the tender white skin, his thumbs stretched apart the tiny quivering rosette of Jyuushirou’s entrance. With two slippery fingers he plunged into the small pulsating orifice, massaging and pushing to loosen the tight muscles, thrusting in to his knuckles and pushing both fingers apart, feeling the secret passageway open to him, then in one singular movement practiced over near two thousand years, withdrew his hand and slid himself in sheathing completely home, tearing a choked sob from Jyuushirou as his strong supple thighs crushed Shunsui’s waist in pain. Swiftly scooping his arms beneath the long shaking back, robe, sheets and all, he clasped the pale body against him as it trembled, swathing Jyuushirou’s lithe slender arms to his sides with his embrace to gentle the pained shuddering.

Soft gasping pants whispered against Shunsui’s ears as they stayed connected for heartbeats, Jyuushirou’s legs like quivering iron bands around him as his body pulsed and clenched about Shunsui. Then, a soft, hitching, “Please” brushed against the side of Shunsui’s cheek, and obediently he began moving, minutely at first, massaging the skin of his hilt, then like a slow unsealing felt pre-ejaculate began to trickle. Feverishly he peeled apart the folds of the robe and freed Jyuushirou’s hands and strong supple arms wrapped around Shunsui as he held the slender body against him and as one, they moved, matching each other in a rhythm each knew as well as the reishi of his own soul, like two entwined long-tailed sea carps rocking with the currents of the ocean. With rapturous fervour Jyuushirou kissed him, his soft petal mouth laving over Shunsui’s face, licking sweat and something that burned hot beneath Shunsui’s eyelids, and when Shunsui opened eyes he did not know he had closed, his vision of Jyuushirou’s face was blurred, glimmering as though he was seeing his love through the surface of a wind-blown pool. He saw white fingertips rise, felt them wipe beneath his eyes, saw Jyuushirou’s face shine with a smile of pure brilliant love through his stinging shimmering haze of passion and devotion, and Shunsui realised, as he watched a clear sparkling drop fall to splash gently onto Jyuushirou’s ivory cheekbone, that tears were falling from his own eyes.

_I love you._

[ _We love you,_ ] echoed his dark mistress.

“I cannot lose you,” choked Shunsui, hoarse.

The blinding, answering light in Jyuushirou’s dark eyes was all the answer he needed and with a hoarse, wrenching shout, Shunsui released.

# # # # # #

Laying in Jyuushirou’s warm slender arms, feeling soft fingers running through his hair, his heartbeat still thundering, his breathing still harsh, Shunsui gradually came down from their ecstasy. As the haze of passion dissipated, he watched one long white hand rise and gracefully gesture, and all kidou lamps in the house flickered and extinguished. Belatedly, he heard the gentle pattering of rain, and smelled the warm moist scent of summer heat dispelling from the earth, and the room suddenly flashed soundlessly white several times before darkening to moonlit gloom. Raising himself on one elbow, he peered through the parted shoji to the night beyond, and saw a light shower prickling the surface of the lake, receding rapidly even as he watched.

He looked down at the beloved face beneath him. Jyuushirou was smiling at him with silent love, the blue-white glow of his reiatsu fading from his shining dark eyes.

Gently, Shunsui lowered his mouth and kissed the softly smiling lips, moved beyond words. In one wordless gesture, Jyuushirou had announced his love to the heavens. Those who knew his elemental reiatsu would realise the exact nature of the brief unnatural lightning shower. Those who did not would feel compelled to pull their partners close or seek the arms of lovers. Silent satisfaction filled his heart at his certainty that those who knew Jyuushirou’s reiatsu could be counted on the fingers of one hand. He did not want to share this precious secret.

Ai, Yoruichi was right about him after all.

Discarding his silent wry realisation, he gathered the long alabaster body against himself and rolled to his side, resting his head on the silk head cushion. Like always, Jyuushirou pillowed his head on his bicep, burying his nose against Shunsui’s chest. Shunsui threaded his hand in the cool mass of long slippery white tresses, massaging the delicate scalp until his own heart calmed, and his own breathing evened.

They lay quietly in the dark, neither of them speaking, neither of them needing to.

Then softly, quietly, Jyuushirou said, “I have to tell Senpai.” As his fingers began tracing the hair on Shunsui’s chest, he added in a whisper, “She deserves to know.”

There was no need for Shunsui to ask for details. He simply tightened his hold. Jyuushirou’s shoulders and back were warm and yielding against his arms, the long tousles of his hair blanketing Shunsui’s hands like soft cool silk. It was all the answer he needed to give, for he felt the warm smooth body relax and settle further within his embrace.

Kissing the top of the beloved head, Shunsui inhaled the heady perfume of peony musk and their love-making, then rested the underside of his jaw upon the precious cranium. Sleep drifted close as his soul thrummed in peace with their skin contact, oblivion creeping over his mind as his heart cradled the truth he had always known – the being in his arms was his soul, irreplaceable if ever lost. Memory rose of Kurotsuchi’s secret tanks, and as a vague germ of an idea began to form, the dark shadows of slumber enveloped him.

**Author's Note:**

> THE DISCLAIMER I HATE TO WRITE BUT HAVE TO:
> 
> All characters, plot, devices settings, environments in Bleach (the "Property") belong to Tite Kubo and the companies which created, developed and produced them (the "Copyright Owners"). All parts of the Property used in this fiction are based and developed from the original works of the Copyright Owners and the author of this fiction makes no money and no claim whatsoever on any part of the Property. All ideas, developments and works in this fiction which are not part of the Property (the "Transformations") are made by the author and belong to the author. No money of any kind is made from this work in any way whatsoever. If any of the Copyright Owners wants any part of the Transformations, the author is open to discussions.


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